The Heat of the Moment
by catharticone
Summary: A disgruntled Donna and a dazzlingly hot desert... what could possibly go wrong?
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: __"Doctor Who" is the property of the BBC; I'm merely borrowing…_

_Special thanks, as always, to SonicJules for encouragement, beta assistance, and help with the title._

* * *

It was bloody hot: sweltering, roasting, broiling, fires-of-hell hot. Donna was sure she'd never experienced heat like this before. The sun's blazing rays had baked the ground into hard clay, and the few hearty, brave plants that had struggled to cling to life had long since lost the battle. They lay withered, brown, and brittle against the grey, dusty earth.

Donna paused for a moment to glance back at the Doctor. If she'd had any doubts about the intensity of the heat, his appearance quelled them. He'd removed his jacket, button-down, and tie and wore only his trousers and a pale blue tee shirt. She'd never seen him shed more than his jacket before. Oh yes, it was bloody hot indeed.

He was hunched over the contraption he'd set up beside the tent, feeding in the small rocks that contained some critical element required by the TARDIS for continued temporal travel. This planet—this blasted, barren, boiling planet—was the only place he knew to find the ore. To top that off, the deposits were widely scattered, and the only way to locate them was to undertake a visual search, scanning the ground for the glittery, slightly translucent pebbles.

They'd walked for three hours before they found the first deposit. The little rocks were strangely and incongruously heavy; a handful weighed as much as a small boulder. The element, hidden deep inside each stone, was much lighter, so it made sense to extract it here rather than attempting to transport the ore back to the ship.

The Doctor had come prepared for once, surprising Donna. He'd given her a rucksack that she'd slung over her back, and he'd carried a large duffle bag. Once they found the ore deposit, he took her bag and his and removed camping equipment, water, a large supply of nutrition bars, and the extraction contraption. The bags were clearly dimensionally transcendent. He'd pitched a tent rather impressively then settled down with the weird device while Donna gathered up the pebbles, bringing them to him one at a time.

"Just a couple more," he called, noticing her gaze upon him.

"Right," she replied, although she doubted he could hear her. Her voice was raspy and unusually soft. She gave a weary wave then trudged across the arid ground.

Her clothing was drenched in sweat, and her hair was plastered to her head. The hat she'd donned kept the sunlight out of her eyes, but she could feel the brutal heat scorching its way through her cotton shirt and khaki trousers.

Donna reached for the water bottle hanging at her side. She took a swig only to find that it was empty. She shrugged. There was more water at the camp. She'd refill the bottle when she returned with the pebbles. And then she'd take a much-deserved break. She'd eat a couple of those protein bars and drink at least two bottles of water…

The thought made her grimace. Nausea roiled through her, and she realized that food was the last thing she wanted. Shade was all she desired now. Just a couple more pebbles to go, and then she could slink into the tent, away from the relentless sun and singed ground and heat that radiated up and all around her.

She stumbled ahead, her eyes flicking over the ground. There were no pebbles in sight. She sighed and wiped the hair from her eyes. Perhaps she should have been surprised to discover that her skin was dry now; the constant stream of sweat had ceased. Instead, she smiled languidly. Temperature must be going down, day must be cooling off…

She trudged along for some time, but she couldn't find any more pebbles. A part of her urged her to return to the camp, but a bigger, louder part prodded her to continue her search. The Doctor had entrusted this task to her, and dammit, she'd complete it.

Her feet moved over the hard earth, and after a while she stopped paying attention to where she was going. Her thoughts grew hazy, her limbs inexplicably heavy, and the sunlight seemed to darken into splotches of black that danced before her unfocused eyes.

Her stomach was cramping now, and once she thought she would vomit, but she didn't. She coughed and retched a bit, but there was nothing to expel. She almost fell to her knees; however, sheer force of will, or perhaps it was just plain old stubbornness, kept her going.

"Donna!"

The voice was faint and very far away. Yet when she finally found the energy to look up, she found the Doctor standing just a few yards away. She was vaguely aware that she was near the camp. How had she gotten here? She curled her fingers into her palms. Damn. She hadn't found any more pebbles.

"Sorry," she croaked.

He was walking toward her, and though his legs seemed to move fast, his body approached her in slow motion. He was saying something, probably chastising her for failing to find any more ore, but she couldn't comprehend his words. She blinked as he wavered before her. The black spots were returning, darting around him, nearer and nearer, until they devoured him completely, and Donna saw nothing more.

* * *

_To be continued..._

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

"Donna!" the Doctor called again. His feet pounded over the hard, dry earth as he saw her collapse to the ground.

He'd noticed her excessively flushed skin the moment he looked up, but he hadn't realized the severity of the situation. He reached her side in a few seconds and immediately pressed one hand against her cheek while wrapping the other round her wrist. Her skin felt very dry and hot; he judged her temperature to be 105.8, give or take a tenth of a degree. Her pulse was rapid, and he could hear the ragged breaths she drew and exhaled.

"Donna!" He spoke her name again, hoping to rouse her. But she did not stir from her stupor.

His first priority was to get her out of the sun. He bent, struggling a bit to lift her. He tugged her up rather inelegantly, but after a few moments managed to settle her in his arms.

"Not so scrawny after all," he quipped.

Of course she did not reply. Immediately he missed her snappy retorts and snarky comments. But there wasn't time to dwell upon that. He shambled across the dry earth, hastening toward the shaded shelter of the tent.

Unceremoniously he dumped Donna on the sleeping bag she'd rolled out earlier. She offered no complaint at the less than delicate treatment. Her head lolled to the side, eyes closed against her reddened skin.

Without hesitation the Doctor unbuttoned her white cotton shirt, stripping it from her in one swift motion. He pulled off her khakis then whisked off her hat, shoes, and socks. Her entire body was terribly flushed. He spared one moment to check the water bottle she'd clipped to her slacks. It was empty.

"Oh Donna, why didn't you just come back?" he muttered.

He pinched the skin on the back of her hand gently. It remained standing, a clear sign of significant dehydration. He'd suspected as much. He would need to get her rehydrated, but his first priority was cooling her down.

He grabbed one of the water bottles, thankful for the special material that kept the contents cool for many hours. He poured the liquid over her shirt then bunched up the fabric. He pushed the wet wad up under her left arm, then saturated her slacks and placed them under her right arm. He emptied another bottle over his own shirt and tucked it around her groin. He'd covered the two most essential areas for internal cooling, but reducing her external skin temperature would help, too.

He poured water into his hand and drizzled it over her chest and belly then rubbed the liquid over her skin. He performed the treatment on her arms and legs, too, then gently passed his wet hand over her cheeks and brow.

Donna's eyelids fluttered, and she gave a low moan. He spoke her name anxiously, hoping she'd rouse. But she could not struggle out of her unconsciousness. He needed to provide even more cooling.

He reached for his jacket and rummaged through the pockets until he found a folded map. He opened it half-way then used it to fan her, moving the paper over her body, up and down, to encourage evaporative cooling.

When the water on her skin had dried, he checked her pulse again. It remained rapid, but it had slowed marginally. He pressed a hand over her chest, noting that her temperature was now 104.3 and that she was breathing with slightly less difficulty.

It was now time to deal with the dehydration. He opened another water bottle then placed her head in his lap. His fingers touched her lips, gently opening her mouth so that he could pour in a few drops of water. He stroked her throat, hoping to encourage reflexive swallowing. Unfortunately, his small action proved useless: Donna did not swallow.

He couldn't risk her aspirating any of the water. He would have to ensure that she drank it another way. He positioned the bottle at her lips then placed his fingertips upon her temple. The Time Lord closed his eyes to concentrate, finding his way into his companion's mind.

Her thoughts were muted, nearly stilled by her unconscious state. But he didn't require her participation to complete his task. He moved through her mind, delving deeper until he reached far enough to tap into her motor responses. He sent a simple command then opened one eye to check that she obeyed. Her left index finger twitched, just as he'd told it to do.

"Swallow," he instructed, and she did.

He managed to get half a bottle of water into her. He didn't dare try any more; the heat stroke could cause nausea, and the last thing he wanted was for her to vomit and become even more dehydrated. He slid his hand down to rest against her cheek.

Donna's temperature was now 103.1 degrees. He'd managed to cool her significantly, but she was not out of danger yet. He shifted her onto her side, in the recovery position, then rearranged the wet cloths so that they remained at her armpits and groin. He poured a little more water into his hand and rubbed it over her back and legs then fanned her for several more minutes.

When she groaned and gave a spluttering cough, he nearly leaped over her prone body so that he could see her face.

"Donna?" he inquired tentatively.

One eyelid opened partially, and she groaned again. "God. My head."

Then, as quickly as she'd roused, she slipped away again, her eyes closing as her limbs went limp.

"Donna?" he asked again, pressing his fingers over the pulse point in her throat. He sighed and resumed his fanning.

He wished he had a saline IV; that would improve her hydration almost immediately. But he'd come ill-prepared for this emergency. Truth be told, it hadn't even occurred to him that something like this could happen. While he'd felt the heat, he could regulate his body temperature, adjusting blood flow to provide necessary cooling and keep him in homeostasis. He hadn't thought much about human physiology, other than to remember to pack sufficient water and food.

If anything happened to Donna, if she didn't recover fully, it would be his fault. He'd been a careless git who'd forgotten to consider the consequences of the extreme heat for his human companion.

He stroked the hair back from her forehead, permitting his hand to linger over her brow. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

There was nothing more he could do at the moment. His only recourse was to wait.

* * *

_To be concluded…_


	3. Chapter 3

Her head was pounding, and her stomach felt like it was twisted into a hundred knots. These sensations were so strong that it took Donna a few moments to realize that her limbs ached, too, and her throat felt dry and scratchy. She was disoriented. She wondered if she'd had too much to drink. But she hadn't been drinking, had she?

She took a deep breath, trying to remember what the hell could have left her feeling like she'd been run over by a lorry. She'd been in the TARDIS, with the Doctor, and then they'd landed… somewhere hot, somewhere really, really hot, and she'd been out gathering those weird, deceptively heavy little rocks. She couldn't recall anything else, though.

She supposed it was time to open her eyes. She'd avoided it until now because she knew the light would only make her head hurt more fiercely. Still, she conceded that it had to be done eventually. She blew out a breath. No time like the present.

Donna opened her eyes, blinking and squinting immediately as the increased illumination resulted in a concomitant increase in pain.

"God," she groaned, taking a few seconds to process her surroundings.

She was lying down, on her left side, and the ground beneath her was hard. She saw a rucksack, and beyond that a tent pole reaching up farther than her weary eyes wished to move. She remembered, then, that the Doctor had pitched a tent. She was in said tent, reclining on the sleeping bag and feeling like complete and utter hell.

"Donna?" The Doctor's voice was cautious, and there was a strange tone to it that she had never heard before.

His white Chucks appeared in her line of vision first, then his knees as he got down on the floor beside her.

"Yeah," she replied, "that's me—least I think it is. Feel a bit shit."

He nodded, and she thought his expression bore significant traces of regret. "Sorry," he said.

Her hand lay near her shoulder, and she noted idly that she'd chipped a nail. Her gaze moved up to her wrist then toward her arm. Something was different; something had changed since she'd been out gathering those rocks. Suddenly she realized that her arm was bare. She'd had on a long-sleeved shirt before.

Her eyes shot down then back up her body. "Oi!" she yelped. "I'm naked!"

The Doctor reached over her and pulled something over her shoulders. She realized vaguely that it was his coat. She also realized that her last statement hadn't been entirely accurate. She still wore her bra and panties, and there was something bunched up under her arms and around her thighs. Still, rather great expanses of bare skin were exposed to the Time Lord's appraising eye.

"Stop looking at me!" she commanded weakly. "And tell me why I'm halfway to starkers."

"Hyperthermia," he replied. Then he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and added, "Heat stroke. I had to cool you down as quickly as possible." He gestured toward her legs and torso. "Needed to remove your clothing to do that. Sorry."

Well, that explained a lot, actually. Now Donna had a faint memory of feeling overheated and dizzy, of stumbling back toward the camp. "That's why I feel so crappy?"

He nodded. "You got dehydrated, too. Still are. So you need to have some water." He picked up a bottle that sat nearby then slid his arm around her shoulders, easing her around so that she could sit with her head against his chest.

With mild alarm, she realized that she didn't possess the strength to sit up alone. She felt as weak as a newborn kitten so didn't offer any resistance when the Doctor held the bottle to her lips.

"Just have a few sips for now," he told her. "We'll take it slowly."

She drank, feeling strangely thirsty yet slightly queasy at the same time. When he eased the bottle away, she did not complain. She'd really had enough.

The wadded garments had fallen away from her when he'd shifted her up, and he removed them. She tried feebly to pull his coat around herself more tightly, but he stilled her hand.

"Your temperature is still close to 102," he told her. "You need to continue cooling down, and wrapping up in my coat isn't going to help."

"But I'm almost naked!" she protested weakly.

He uncrumpled one of the garments—she realized dimly that it was his shirt—and spread the damp item over her to provide cover to her torso. "How's that?" he asked. She sensed nothing but concern in his expression and tone.

"Better," she acknowledged. Her head still rested against his chest. She leaned back a bit more, seeking his naturally cooler skin against hers. She was remained quite warm, and that wasn't exactly helping her raging headache.

He seemed to know how she was feeling. "Head hurts?" he asked.

"Yeah."

His hands moved up to rest against her temples. They felt wonderfully cool, and that alone provided her with some small comfort. And when he began massaging her brow with gentle fingertips, she nearly cried with relief. The pain diminished instantly, receding to a dull thud then fading until all she felt was a sort of thickness inside her skull. It didn't hurt; it was just a bit odd.

"Mmm," she murmured, not even aware that she'd made a noise.

"Better?"

"Oh yeah."

He continued his ministrations for another minute, then his hands spread over her forehead and cheek. "Hmm, temperature's down a bit more. I wonder…"

"What?" she asked, attending only partially to his musings.

"My body temperature's lower than yours, and I can adjust it a little more to make it even cooler." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in closer so that her back pressed against his chest.

Within a minute she felt the difference as his skin seemed to drop several degrees. "Neat trick," she said, sighing as she cooled down even more.

"Voluntary control of the hypothalamus," he told her, clearly thinking she'd be interested.

She wasn't, really, but she acknowledged him. "Huh. Cool." Then she giggled, because the joke was suddenly incredibly funny.

"Donna?" he questioned, his face moving closer to hers. His cheek was nearly pressing against hers.

"Cool. Get it? You're cool!" She was laughing harder now, and she couldn't stop. Even when it became difficult to draw a solid breath, the peals burst forth unbidden.

"Calm down, Donna," the Doctor was saying, and his hand was rubbing at her shoulder then moving down to press over her chest. "Sshh, just try to breathe, small breaths, just one at a time."

She was choking, gasping for air now. This was so, so not funny.

His hand lowered, and she felt him press hard at the top of her ribcage: once, twice, three times. It hurt, and she wanted to push his hand away. But she realized whatever he was doing was actually helping; she could take a small, shallow breath now.

"That's it," he complimented, his voice soft against her ear. "And again. Good girl."

Donna's breathing steadied, and she collapsed against the Doctor again. "God. What was that?"

"Bit of hysteria," he replied.

"Hysteria? Oh no, I don't do hysteria!" she protested. Her instinct was to pull away, but he held her gently and prevented her from moving. His hand returned to move up and down over her shoulder and massage lightly at the base of her neck.

"After-effects from the hyperthermia," he informed her. "Not your fault."

"It came out of my mouth," she reminded him.

He didn't appear to hear her. He continued, "Not your fault at all. I should've realized the effect this heat would have on you. You're only human, after all. Which isn't in the least to say anything against humans. You're one of my favorite species. But you can't regulate your body temperatures terribly well—few species can, really—and I should've been more aware, kept an eye on you—"

"You're gettin' an eyeful now," she interjected, adjusting the shirt to provide better cover.

He paused and lowered his head so that his cheek touched hers. In a very low, incredibly sincere, slightly broken voice, he said, "I'm sorry, Donna."

When she felt tears prickling in her eyes, she decided she wasn't quite over the hysteria yet. She reached up to rest her hand against his other cheek. "It's all right. You didn't mean it."

"No, but that's no excuse."

"'Course it is." She blinked at the dampness against her lashes. Neither spoke for some time, then finally she said, "I think I'm ready for some more water now."

He eased away from her, taking a moment to check her temperature again. "99.9," he reported with a satisfied and clearly relieved nod. "Just about back where you should be."

He handed her the water; she felt strong enough to hold the bottle now. She took several sips then passed the bottle back to him. The shirt was nearly dry, so she slipped into it, not bothering to do up the buttons. It wasn't like he'd see anything new now.

"Is it all right if I wait until tomorrow to get the rest of the pebbles?" she asked.

"What?" He appeared surprised by her question. "No. I'll take care of it. You just rest, then tomorrow morning we'll head back to the TARDIS."

"But you said you needed my help—"

"I did, and you gave it, and then some. Do you feel like you can eat a few bites of a protein bar?"

"Yeah, I do."

He rummaged in the rucksack then gave her the bar. As she began to unwrap it, he spoke again.

"Promise me something," he said.

She looked up to find a somber expression upon his face. "Sure. What?"

"Don't let me be an idiot again."

She laughed, this time a gentle burbling that was easily controlled. "That's a tall order!"

He smiled—the first smile she'd seen since she'd awakened—and said, "Suppose you're right. But remind me when I don't stop to remember that you're human."

"Only human. Right. I get it."

He shook his head. "No, Donna, I don't think you do. You're human, of course, and wonderfully so. It gives you qualities that I can never have. But it makes you just a bit fragile in some situations, too, and I want you to make sure I don't forget that."

"Because you want to remember how superior you are to us mere mortals?"

"Not at all." He gave her hand a brief squeeze. "It's because I don't want to lose you. You make me better, Donna Noble, and that's not easy to do."

She grinned and gestured toward the rumpled, soggy clothes. "You make me better, too."

He shook his head, a grin twitching at his lips. "What am I going to do with you?"

She took a bite of the protein bar. "Wouldn't say no to some more of that neck massaging action."

He scooted back into position behind her and began rubbing at her sore muscles. She leaned against him once again, relaxed though tired. After a short while her eyes drifted closed, and she slipped into a doze.

Still, she was aware of the tender kiss he placed on her temple. Donna smiled sleepily. He wasn't so very different from a human after all.

* * *

_The End_

* * *


End file.
